Exceptions
by Simply Shelby
Summary: Because the rules to calling shotgun are clear. And very, very real. And important. And also irrefutable. Written for the Shules ficathon '08. Prompt: GUN


**Exceptions  
By Simply Shelby**

_Shawn: Shotgun!  
Gus: You can't call shotgun on a blimp.  
-Rob-A-Bye Baby_

Juliet had grown up beside a clan of brothers, so she believed she understood everything she needed to about the importance of the passenger seat. However, when Shawn Spencer came into her life, she realised she had underestimated just how important "shotgun" seemed to be.

That, and her psychic friend took "shotgun" to an entirely new level.

"Shotgun!" Gus Guster called as he, Juliet and Shawn were walking down the steps of the Santa Barbara Police Station. They were on their way to only-God-knows-where on one of Shawn's hunches. Well, she was pretty sure Shawn knew too. Even if he claimed the spirits were unclear.

Shawn had sprinted to the sedan the police station gave Juliet to drive and smacked his hand against the door. "My hand is on the handle!"

"Shawn!" A protest to the unfairness of his best friends antics.

"Sorry, Gus, you know the rules." He bounced on his toes as he pulled the door open. Juliet shook her head at them as she slipped the key into the ignition.

Gus sulked quietly and got into the backseat. Juliet glanced at Shawn. "There aren't rules to calling shotgun," she accused calmly. And growing up with a band of sneaky brothers she would know. "You made that up." She looked at Gus for confirmation.

But Gus shook his head. "There really are rules. There's a pocket reference guide and everything. And Shawn, here, is a Shotgun Gaper."

"I am not!" The defendant emphasized his protest by swinging around his pineapple smoothie.

"Oh, please, Shawn, your life revolves around winning shotgun." Because a "gaper" is someone who uses unfair means in order to obtain the prestige of sitting shotgun.

"Yes, but everything I do is legal in every way and cannot be deemed as 'gaping'." The fake psychic stuck his tongue out.

"The handbook clearly states that you _must_ be wearing shoes to rightfully call shotgun. You weren't wearing shoes in Matamoros." Gus curled his tongue and stuck it out in retort. Beat that.

"Dude, I chose not to wear shoes. And that was Brownsville."

"Just because you didn't have any shoes to wear doesn't mean you chose not to wear them. And it was _Mexico_!"

"I distinctly remember crossing the border!"

"You can't call shotgun in a bus anyways!"

Juliet interrupted, fully aware she was being ignored. "Are you two through being infantile?"

"That depends." Shawn was quick to respond.

"On what?"

"Can you explain what 'infantile' means?"

She threw up her hands in exasperation and narrowly avoided crashing into a lemonade stand.

Over the years, Juliet had gotten used to the "shotgun" arguments and wasn't surprised by the amount of times Shawn won. He was naturally clever and devious and Gus, while he could hold his own, was somewhat of a pushover. She always expected that quick burst of shouting for the position and she always felt herself smile at their ridiculous banters, genuinely amused.

Until one day, they don't scramble for shotgun. There is no shouting. There is no bantering. There is some sort of silent agreement Juliet doesn't understand.

They walk out to the car and Shawn automatically slides into the passenger seat while Gus passively climbs into the back seat. Juliet follows suit, but doesn't start the car. Instead she looks between the two of them in confusion.

"What?" Shawn asks, "Do I have something on my face? Nacho cheese? Pineapple juice dripping down my chin. No, Gus, you don't either," he tells his best friend who hadn't even wanted to be in the conversation in the first place. "Jules, what's up?"

"Neither of you called shotgun."

"Oh, well," Shawn shifts uncomfortably, hiding something she was sure, "There are exceptions to every rule."

Gus nods in an almost painful, reluctant agreement.

Apparently, that is all they have to say on the matter, but it isn't enough for Juliet. "What sort of exceptions?"

Shawn flashes her a bright smile that almost makes her forget about the whole matter. Almost.

But no matter how hard she tries to weasel it out of them, she receives nothing but a few smart-alec comments. And she has tried every police interrogation tactic she's ever learned. Gus almost cracks a few times, but Shawn glares at him and he holds firm.

As they arrive at the crime scene, Shawn advises her that she might find the answer in the "Exceptions" section of _The Official Shotgun Rules_ and his fingers twirl in her ponytail before he skips over to the dead body and spouts off a bunch of spot-on "psychic" conclusions.

That evening, Juliet stops by the bookstore on her way home and asks the counter if they have the leaflet in stock. It is handed to her in exchange for a palm of cash.

Flipping through to the "Exceptions" she reads the following:

_This is the most important exception. If a significant other (SO) is included in the group of automobile passengers and this person is the SO or potential SO of the driver, then they get automatic Shotgun privileges. _

She blinks. Slowly, her face is lit up with a bright, giddy smile.

Suddenly, she understands why the shotgun rules are so important.

* * *

**AN:** There really is such thing as _The Official Shotgun Rules_ book and, sadly, I don't own it.


End file.
